


Dollars On The Sand

by kyarorin



Category: Within the Wires (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, Gift Fic, Women Loving Women, beach date, minor instrospection, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 05:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10984191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyarorin/pseuds/kyarorin
Summary: A sunny day at the beach. A future hinted at. These are the things Hester hopes are not dreams.





	Dollars On The Sand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prowlish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/gifts).



> SEASON TWO COMING THIS FALL /screams

She is dreaming of a cloud of dark hair, highlighted gold in the sun as the tang of salt in the air burns her nose. Oleta turns to look at her, and she feels her heart squeeze with something. Is this a dream?

_ Are you dreaming _ , she asks herself, toes digging into the hot sand down under to the cooler water and small creatures that burrowed there. 

She is  _ not _ dreaming. 

Oleta is here, Oleta has forgiven her. Their fingers are clasped as Oleta pulls her down the beach, her dark skin a stark, beautiful contrast to Hester’s milky pale skin.  _ Not dreaming _ , she tells herself again, as Oleta laughs. "Oleta!" She over pronounces the t, Oh-le- _ tah _ , shrieking in laughter as she tries not to fall over. "Slow down!"

Her friend, her love, looks back her, white teeth flashing in a broad smile, "All right, all right."

Then, she stops. 

And let’s go. 

For a brief moment Hester’s breath stops, held in her throat as if waiting for the gavel to drop, drop, sound out the condemnation she deserves for subjecting Oleta to The Institute, nearly subjecting her to  _ carpentry _ all our of misguided jealousy and anger. 

Oleta bends down and scoops something up from the sun baked sand, turning it over in her hand with a look of curiosity and burgeoning excitement. 

It is small, and round, and a pale cream like fresh bone, cradled gently by long dark fingers. Oleta breathes in. She holds the air reverently in her lungs for a half second before she releases it in a long gust with a broad smile.

It is a sand dollar. 

"I’ve never seen one of these in real life before."

Hester smiles, sneaking her fingers back into Oleta’s hand. "Keep it. It would look lovely on the mantelpiece." 

Oleta turns and grins, her eyes twinkling with delight. "I think I will. Maybe I should try my hand at decorating, hmm?" She turns the milky shell over in her hand thoughtfully. "The pictures you’ve chosen are beautiful, but it’s all you."

That dark jealous monster inside of her that reared it’s head in that restaurant an age ago nearly makes its appearance now, but Hester stays silent. 

Instead, she looks at her as if she can tease out what Oleta means, in that comment, trying not to let the hurt show. All her? Hester remembers finding that first piece, of seeing that lonesome mountainous landscape and the ache in her heart for the laugh of a long forgotten friend. She’s chosen those pictures  _ because _ of Oleta. How can she not see herself in the art Hester has given her?

"I’ve got to make my mark in this cottage somehow," Oleta says, her smile is secretive and curling up in one corner as though she knows something Hester does not.

The monster inside of her settles, and Hester gives her hand another squeeze. "Does this mean you want to stay? Here? With me?"

Oleta laughs, it’s rich and dark, and full of life and confidence and that spark of defiance that has stuck with Hester all these years as a ghost in the back of her mind. 

Perhaps Oleta doesn’t lover her, perhaps she never will, but knowing that her friend, her  _ childhood _ friend is safe and happy and picking up sand dollars on a beach, far away from The Institute.

Free. Free  _ from _ The Institute. That funny four letter words has never sounded so sweet until now. 


End file.
